Nor flower in classic grove,
There's not a sweet note warbled here,
But minds us of Thy Love.
O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes,
There is no light but Thine: with Thee all beauty glows.



FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT



Joseph made haste; for his bowels did yearn upon his brother; and
he sought where to weep, and he entered into his chamber and wept
there. Genesis xliii. 30.

There stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known unto
his brethren. Genesis xlv. 1.

When Nature tries her finest touch,
Weaving her vernal wreath,
Mark ye, how close she veils her round,
Not to be traced by sight or sound,
Nor soiled by ruder breath?

Who ever saw the earliest rose
First open her sweet breast?
Or, when the summer sun goes down,
The first soft star in evening's crown
Light up her gleaming crest?